Allowing GuidanceSpecial part of the Whole Universe (one verse, in harmony)Progression into the next era of your life...

​Are you ready?

My Mythic Story: Part 1Butterfly and Whale Medicine[Transformation and Archiving]

In a lush land of peaches and peanuts there was born a child of the fairy people. Her mother shared the knowledge of nurturing to those who had not known love or acceptance. Hugs were her medicine. Her father was a man of resource, transporting the goods people thought they need many miles along steel rails.

In her early years she would rome the woods and fields near her small community, speaking with the trees, plants, and animals.

​...If you are still and quite you too can hear the song of nature...

She was the Queen of the Woods guided by the night, protected by her trusted cheetah companion who was swift and sharp. Together they were the guardians of the cycles of life, the gentle creatures, and the misunderstood.

My dreams of late have been rather disconcerting. Last week I awoke from the image of tiny burgundy mary-janes left alone on a roof top ledge after a character representing a wealthy father and respected community member casually chose an orphan from a line-up to take home to his family to be butchered and roasted for dinner.

In real life a lizard has been living for months behind the door molding of the linen closet in my mother's guest bathroom. I tried to catch the delightful creature to release him back into the yard where food and water are more available, but he squirmed back into his hiding place leaving me with a piece of his scaly tail between the pads of my fingers and a sense of guilt for having harmed the creature in the process of attempting to help. A couple days ago he scurried into the back bedroom and disappeared under the bed. Again I saw him last night make a dash under the pillows by the curtains and I thought, "I should try to get him again and take him outside or get him some water." He was looking a little brown more than green. But I decided to let him be. This morning I awoke to him dead and turning brown on the floor between the bed and discarded pillows. A surge of regret and sadness came over me as I attempted to put water on his tiny mouth, that had a bit of fluff protruding from it?... It was to no avail. In my search for meaning...literally a google search for "lizard medicine in reverse" brought me to the following website and passages there within...

"If Lizard has turned up in the contrary position, you may be having a nightmare.This is a sign of inner conflict. Look to the nightmare for a clue to the nature of thisconflict. What are the feelings your nightmare causes? Breathe through these feelingsand let the sensations flow out of your body. See the truth in what your nightmare issuggesting. It could be the simple message that you are confronting your fears andtherefore do not need to experience nightmarish events in your day-to-day life.Another message of Lizard reversed is that you may need more sleep ordreamtime. It could also imply that you have a lack of dreams for your future.Imagination is the door to all new ideas and creations. As you examine thedreaming process, you will find that the subconscious is processing all of the recordedmessages it hold concerning the events you experienced during the day. These messagescan be suppressed feelings bringing inner conflict, or they can be new ideas or goals,other dimensions of awareness, future events, warning signals, or desires and hopes.In one sense, contrary Lizard is insisting that you look to your imagination fornew experience. This is necessary when life becomes dull or full of boredom. On theother hand, contrary Lizard may also apply to those who dream too much, refusing to usethe dreams as tools to manifest that same vision in their lives.All levels of awareness are accessible through dreams. Remember, life is notalways as it seems. Are you the dreamer? Or are you the dreamed?"

And even as I began to write these passages the symbols of the dream become clearer to me. The disenfranchised are being sacrificed to feed the children of the providing paternal figure. If only the children knew by what means their bellies were being filled.

This comes on the heels of having well meaning people tell me to focus on what I can offer the world in a practical business sense. All the time my heart is saying I just want to create, nurture, and care for art babies and real babies. my soul cries because this is being neglected in our modern world in exchange for prioritizing projects that bring in money, rather than projects that create healthy connects and nurture mental, emotional, and physical growth. I don't want to offer things that encourage exploitation...I want to offer things that encourage connection with spirit, self, family, partners, friends, and community. I am a social artist. I am hear to create, expand, and inspire. Not to conform.

So Uncle Sam you can keep your forms, your mandates, and false notes. This soul is a rebelle with a cause! And I really believe in "no child left behind"...the sentiment...not the program using the phrase to act like it is for the benefit of our future generations! Just like the Affordable Care Act is by no means affordable...for the US government or anyone who "opted" into coverage!

I cannot say I have been following closely the news about the ongoing struggle between Democrats and Republicans in America regarding Immigration policy, but I can say that I feel passionately about how policy affects people on a personal level. Many of my considerations for decisions in life have been affected by the limitations of policies, laws, rules, and regulations...or in spite of them. So here are some of my current thoughts on the matter and points I urge America to consider:

In regards to Immigration and taking care of the down trodden/ welcoming the poor...I mean get real America, you asked for it...remember the inscription on Lady Liberty! (Pay close attention to those last 5 lines.)

For over a century America has lured people to it's shores with promises of freedom, opportunity, and living the American dream. The reality is much different. From slavery and indentured servitude to assembly lines and minimum wage without benefits, the American Dream has been dangled like a golden carrot entreating people to work harder, longer, and sacrifice their health, relationships, and general well being often in support of someone else's dream while lining already full pockets. This is not freedom. It is slavery to a delusion. And at what costs? It is getting more and more difficult to support a family off of one income, and who suffers most but the next generation.

From the Great Depression, incited by rumors and prolonged by natural disaster, to the baby boomers, attitudes of entitlement, hopes for a future that never quite materializes, and hoarding behaviors abound. Frankly I am sick of it. So many people worried about having, doing, acquiring, that the joy of the moment is often lost. Everyone seen as other becomes an enemy, someone who might get that coveted position, who might steal something from you or your children. These are the attitudes I witness people making decisions about policy from firsthand. And it is all steeped in a mentality of scarcity, possessiveness, and fear.

During my times in LA, I often saw hoards of food being dumped and locked up because of expired dates or fear of liability. From greedy grocery chains to extravagantly catered parties so much food never makes it into hungry tummies. Much of it ends up in locked dumpsters and taken to already overflowing landfills.

People are in fact creating the scarcity they fear. The air will be choked out by the smog and our land will become locked under rotting fruit and plastic.

Rebels with more resourcefulness than money often eat rather well off dumpster diving and sharing the riches of their plunder amongst comrades in dusty warehouses shared with 8-12 people. These are not degenerates. Many of the people I knew were great minds, artists of note, students going to prestigious schools, dedicated environmentalists, and hard working activists. None of this behavior is legal and could result in fines that these people would not be able to pay. With insufficient social programs and financial assistance, thank God for landlords who look the other way as long as rent is paid in full on time, and store workers who forget to lock to chains.

An artist from Mexico I had the pleasure of working with relayed his cousins account of the U.S. government coming to his small town in Mexico and recruiting people to come work in New Orleans cleaning up the devastation left by Katrina. It was rumored some arm of our government did this because they could not afford to pay or get enough American citizens to do the job within the budget of the contract. And one day the trucks were gone. The people from Mexico left there to find other work, a way home, etc. With fears of being deported and little knowledge of how to become legal citizens or of the English language.

For 20 years a friend of mine and his family had been living in Orange County. Three of his siblings were born there. His father had run a successful lawn service business after working for someone else who retired and was still waiting in constant anxiety for his wife, his two oldest sons, and himself to be granted citizenship...all the while trying various legal routes to make this happen. My friend wanted to go to film school but could not until he was a citizen, because he needed citizenship to apply for financial aid and resources to assist him in realizing this dream. His brother was a successful hair stylist. Im sure they would have been happy to pay taxes if given the legal right to do so. His wife lived in constant fear she would be separated from their younger children and did not want to report repair needs to the landlord so their rented town home was slowly falling into disrepair. She has no picket fence, or whirlpool dryer.

Personally, I implore everyone to take a good look at their motivations, fears, biases, and prejudices before forming your opinion on what policy should be regarding immigration. In another time it could have been your great grandfather, grandmother, or father being hurled hateful slurs, judged due to the color of their skin or thick accent and being told they had no right to be here. If we really want to get into that, many of us have no right to be here as much of this land and the resources were cunningly or forcefully taken from the Native American, but that is for another blog, another time. ​

In a dusty sunlit corner of the Fitzgerald "Piano Doctor's" shop stood the most magnificent instrument collecting cobbweds.

It was dull and black, dried out from years of neglect, keys and parts of it scattered all around, pieces of the ornate leaf design laying on it's chipped and missing ledges. A little claw foot stool unstably proped nearby in much the same state of disrepair. My mom had taken me with her to help pick out a piano for my brother and I to practice on as we would soon be taking lessons from Ms. Harris, a stern old maid who was the new piano teacher in town.​In a flash I envisioned what it once was and could be again!

Some craftperson's hands had labored lovingly to create the beautiful instrument and I wanted to hear its sound. I imagined the home it must have once lived in when it was first created. A father playing, mother singing, smiling brightly and laughing with each other as their children played with toy drums, spoons, wooden cars, and baby dolls at their feet. I knew it could be restored to its former glory! I wanted that to be my family one day.

Out on the show floor, my mom had been explaining to the Piano Dr. our current financial situation since her mother had passed away and my father abandoned us forcing us to move due to foreclosure and bringing to light mounting debt that had resulted in bankruptcy the previous year. As I quietly came out of the back to rejoined them, she motioned to the shiny pianos lined up in the showroom and asked which one I wanted to take home. Those new pianos all looked about the same to me. They had no flare, no personality, and were probably built by a machine in a factory.

I looked at my mom and shook my head as I tugged her to the back and pointed at the broken one sitting in the corner yearning for attention. I pointed and said, "that one." She looked regretfully at me with love in her eyes and said, "oh honey, that one will probably never play again, he is likely using it for parts to repair other pianos...too bad because it is very lovely." But the piano Dr. who had followed us back interrupted exclaiming, "actually I am getting ready to restore that one, and it will have a better sound then any of the others." My eyes lit up! My mom hung her head, "I'm sure we could not afford that." But the piano Dr. explained we could buy one of the others to practice on until he finished the restoration and he would work out the pricing where it would not be much different, and since I loved it so much it needed to be with us, a payment plan could be arranged.

I was ecstatic! The first step toward my dream of a happy future family life.

Then the work began. Unfortunately, I was never very good at reading music. I had to number the notes to correlate with a number system my piano teacher and I came up with for my fingers. My brother took to it naturally though and beautiful music filled the house for a time. I can still hear the melody and refrain of one of the pieces I played for my first recital, "My Shadow and Me." A playful little conversation between the high and low keys. A move and a few years later the piano again became neglected as school studios, MTV, dial-up internet, friends, sports, and the opposite sex became more interesting to my brother and I.

Over the next few years the piano became more of a decorative piece of furniture than and instrument. Mom or myself faithfully dusted and oiled the tiger oak wood , but only occasionally did the keys get uncovered for practice singing something for church choir, creating little playful songs that were never written down, or to play "Mary Had A Little Lamb." (The only tune I could seem to always remember how to play after a couple tries.) It became "uncool" in my brothers friend group to play piano and he stopped altogether.

When my mom got remarried we had to move to an apartment and there was not room for the large instrument. She had her brother take it to a friend of hers who offered to store it until when again had room for the instrument as the intention was to eventually buy or build a house. My step father brought us back around the dinner table but the music stopped except my brother or I listening to it on our headphones in our rooms. I remember he and I saving up to jointly purchase the Smashing Pumpkins two part CD, "Bullet with Butterfly Wings". We began to connect to other people's words expressing emotions we connected to for some reason, but stopped expressing our own stories through song.

As high school ended, college began and another moved happened but there was no room for the piano in my parents new home. College ended, I got engaged, loaded up everything and headed toward California. But the piano was forgotten. Break-ups, deaths, divorce, depression, addiction, and multiple moves later for myself and my family and the piano had been all but forgotten.

Until I met a young musician at a festival we were working for and I was reminded of that vision for happy family life.

My mother remarried and it caused a fall out with the friend who had kept the piano in her home all these years. And when I attempted to recover the property she said it meant a lot now to her grandchildren as it had been played by her, her daughters, and them the years it had been in her house.

The piano found it's home, though not with me. The instrument became a symbol of what I want to create with a partner and a reminder to keep the expression of care and love flowing in order to realize this dream. Sometimes parts of ourselves or lives become like the dried out broke piano from neglect or rejection. These aspects hide in the shadows of our psyche, waiting for someone to once again embrace them so they can return to the light. This also happens to members of society when cast out, rejected, neglected, or parts of ourselves we reject and suppress.​The people or parts rejected act out or shut down when they can no longer function as the divine had intended. When they become decorative objects, loose their home, family, or community, and are no longer seen as instruments of expression. They often feel their purpose is lost or forget how to express themselves. But every part and person has a place and a song to express in the Symphony of the Universe. Sometimes all that is needed is for someone to see the potential and the beauty and believe restoration is possible and then find a good home/space full of love and care.

What is your part in the divine composition of expression? What parts of your soul need a little extra love and attention to feel safe returning and reintegrating? What can you do today to feel at home on this planet with your family and community?

Are there ever those times where you wish the world, your clients, your friends, your partner, your family were not so demanding and that you could take a break? If you relate to the caregiver archetype you may answer “hell yes!” and then feel guilty for thinking that because you absolutely adore all those people in your life and fighting to make the world a better place.

But what happens if you are not taking care of yourself? You may become the shadow archetype of the caregiver...the martyr. Think, the mother that devours her young to protect them, or Christ on the cross dying for everyone else’s sins when he was sinless. Being a caregiver is often a thankless task, and you may hear things come out of your mouth like “after all I have done for you…”, “no one is ever there for me when I need them.”, “you are an ungrateful and selfish brat.” All these statements are wrapped in resentment and serve a big helping of guilt to the people they are spat at. Giving our of a depleted cup can create a vicious cycle of co-dependency that entwines all those playing along in a web of drama.

Have you ever heard of the Drama Triangle? It is a nasty little merri-go-round with sharp edges that keeps spinning and drains all your creative energy until you don’t know which direction to go in. There are three peaks, each occupied by an archetype: victim, protector, persecutor. And at some point everyone plays the victim.

For years my mother and I have done this dance. I remember soaking the bedsheets with my sobs as she played protector, my father lashing her backside with his belt. I starred in the role of victim. And my father got to play persecutor after playing victim himself (I'm not respected, no one care's about my needs). My mother’s remarks of her lack of need for him now that she had children cut his heart to the core. My father could never live up to her idealization of her daddy who had pampered and adored her. My father’s mother did it too. Feeling under nurtured by my Grandfather she poured her time into church and care taking for the community. There she found appreciation, but it left her with less to give her family and my father was too much like my Grandfather.

But a lot of this is hear say and what I have attempted to piece together of old family patterns in order to explain why I am the way I am in partnership and when relating to others. It doesn’t paint a pretty picture. I wanted everyone around me to change so that my world would be more comfortable. To get at this end I manipulated, coerced, even got to the point where I almost sacrificed myself through depression and mental illness when I turned the rage within. As I lay in a pool of my own blood on the floor of a mental institution in south Georgia tonging my broken teeth I thought “I am the sacrificial lamb… "so shall the children pay for the sins of their fathers".” It was all very dramatic and I was lucky to be alive and only have a hairline fracture in my jaw. If only I could have expressed calmly and directly a month before how all the drastic changes with my mom getting remarried were affecting me and requested time to process these shifts maybe things would have played out differently. I learned many lessons from that experience:

1. Trusting my care to someone else could be fatal or at least damaging, physically and mentally. 2. Pushing and rushing leads to things, or people breaking.3. Sometimes it takes a shock to finally opens communication so that compassion and forgiveness can be sought.

Ultimately I had to take responsibility for decisions I had made and allowed that led me down the path to that end. And as I have began to change so have my relationships with other people and my family. Though it continues to be a work in progress. Self forgiveness is a great start to the transformation process.

So, what if there was a better way of relating? What if beyond guilt, manipulation, burnout, and resentment there was hope?

I believe there is a better way. I believe you can care for people while caring for yourself but it takes courage, communication, and respect. This way entails developing a strong relationship with yourself first. If you cannot honor the various energies intermingling inside of you to make you the multifaceted magnificent being you are, how can you possibly honor these various energies in other people? If every time you perceive an imperfection or wrong step you have done you take out a metaphorical flog and beat yourself, will you not do the same to another person who mirrors this behavior through your words or your actions (to their face or behind their back)? What would it be like to ask directly for what you needed without expectation or attachment to outcome or the form by which what you needed comes to you? What would it be like to give because you had more than enough rather than out of guilt?​What shadow archetypes are lurking in your psyche? Are you ready to bring them into the light? I’m interested in giving the dragons of our unconscious purpose rather than slaying them. Are you with me?

Am I in purgatory? The space between life and death. Floating between homes, without an anchor. Why do I desire my own kingdom? Do I really feel I can do a better job "ruling" than those in power? I have gained compassion for the ones who lead, the current rulers. They have great obligations and responsibilities. But the often observed abuse of power causes rage to well up in the pit of my stomach and I cannot abide someone in a position of power putting off their responsibility and being cruel to those they rule. Think of the overstuffed king consuming greasy chickens whole while tenant farmer's starve to death during a drought. The farmer's having sent their last livestock to the castle in payment for taxes and rights to "occupy" and work the land leased to them by those in power. The manipulations of current systems by those in "power" who are not standing in their own power is sickening. How can we all have limitless freedom? Can we even handle this as a society? Is it beyond response-ability?

​

I personally feel overloaded. Maintaining calm, but unable to take anything further on, my plate is over full. How do I clear thoughts, memories, energy, that feel stagnant, and stuck? The castle has become it's own sort of prison. Fear of death and sickness keeps one locked in a room.

I am sad. I wish my knight had wanted to be on this adventure with me. Maybe I did burn his love out, take for granted his kindness and desire for me. Was I the tyrannical ruler...giving so little and expecting so much? But no, the liaison was ill fated from the beginning and I chose to suffer deeply and now I choose differently. I choose joy, and connection with many who see the best in me as I see the best in them and accept and love the worst. I do this for myself. Thank you Venus, planet of love, for the lessons, for a new love blossoming, the self love. May I now be still in each moment and savor it for what it is...not stuck in the past or looking too far ahead.

The seamstress is upset currently by so many of her loved ones being diagnosed with cancer. Some part of me fears I have some malignancy growing within me too, from some toxicity stuck in my body. Our environment has become toxic, polluted with plastics. Intestines? Liver? My stomach rumbles and gurgles almost constantly. Symptoms of stress? I have not been as good to my body with the fuel I have been giving it, but I have tried and sometimes resented the structure of daily meal times and limited diet I was on during the Ayurvedic cleanse. What was once wonderful and exciting got boring and monotonous, like the sex with my knight. This is the fate of most things over time if they remain the same. I do this also with relationships. I have a need to explore have new experiences, different yet familiar. Shall my spirit ever “settle”? Why does that sound like a “bad” word? Balance between movement, and stillness.

It is time to break patterns.

I can do this, I am worthy, my offerings have value. I can rule with grace and ease, compassion and appreciation.

It was nice to go on a walk under the millions and billions of stars on the beach with a fellow Queen as I visited her kingdom. I don’t know exactly what to do to help in her time of transition. My own back and forth thoughts missing my knight, seeking another, accepting being with myself and enjoying my own company during this time may not put me in the best place to advise another at the moment. But maybe all I need to do is listen. I feel for her. I also feel for her king who is still exhibiting signs of being a prince and not stepping into his full self. They had such a beautiful partnership, as it seemed from an outsider's perspective. Can she let go of the hurt? Can he grow with her? Will he respect her boundaries and allow time for healing without causing more damage? Seems a lot of judgments are being thrown around. How am I judging myself?I am seeking a kingdom...a king to be in partnership with, warriors to be my champions, sages to offer guidance, magicians/ creators to manifest dreams into this reality, destroyer's to cut ties that no longer serve, innocents to protect, orphans to embrace, caregivers to provide healing, and fools for comic relief. We each have the energy with-in us to express each archetype. May I be able to adapt a move through situations remembering the gifts each one has to offer and the dragon/fear each must overcome.

Author

Roxanne Olivia Abell is an intuitive guide, consultant, expressive arts practitioner, performance artist, and empath who loves to explore inner and outer terrain. Here she shares some stories from her adventures with you as well as tips and tricks for navigating transformation and transition.